The Song of Doctor Donna Noble
by AudsDods
Summary: Her new husband was a dream, an absolute dream. He was so determined to show her every corner of Earth, wanted to show her everything. But memories are a tricky thing, especially when dealing with a Time Lord. Nothing stays buried for long, things not even the best Doctor could have predicted. Can she survive when things push forward to the surface? Or will she burn?
1. The Perfect Companion

**Chapter One**

**The Perfect Companion  
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It had been stuck in her head for a week. It was some American pop song that, while catchy, was too repetitive to be considered "good." Donna tapped out a quick beat on the cab seat, shifting anxiously. Cabs, especially in New York, moved much too slowly. Thankfully, they would only be here for another three days. Then…where was it John had said they were going? San Francisco, two days, then Hawaii, six days, then Japan. It was such a whirlwind since she had gotten married. Had it been two years? Two years since she had gone from Donna Temple-Noble to Donna Smith? Well, technically, she was still Donna Temple-Noble; John hadn't wanted her to change her name. She had given up so much for him already, he said. She should at least keep her name.

_I'll be your light, your match, your burning Sun_

_ I'll be the bride in black that's making you run_

Bride in black…or was it bright and black? She couldn't tell. Americans never spoke clearly, let alone sang clearly. Two marriages, ha! And her mother had said she would never find a man who would stay. To be fair, when she was young, she had gone through relationships like tissue. No one was strong enough to stand up to her. She was her grandfather's Little General, after all. Well, she had found two men, and this second one…he was perfect. The perfect companion. Two marriages…two? Or three…? Hadn't there been…?

The cab jolted to a stop and the driver cursed in a language Donna didn't know.

"Something wrong?"

The man waved ahead at the cluster of traffic. "Fucking Manhattan."

Donna glanced at the meter, leaned to the side to see the traffic, and then rolled her eyes. She pulled out her wallet, tossed two twenties at him, and promptly got out of the cab, ignoring the cabbie's indignant shout. She gave him a tight smile, shifted her bag over her shoulder and began walking with a toss of her fiery hair. She was in a hurry. John had promised a romantic dinner tonight, home-cooked. He was such a peach, John. She had never, _never_ been happier. Who else would be able to take her across the world? Take her to see things she would never have otherwise seen? Every corner of the Earth?

_I got my mind made up and I can't let go_

_ I'm killing every second 'til it saves my soul_

_ I'll be running, I'll be running_

_ 'Til the love runs out, 'til the love runs out_

_ And we'll start a fire, and we'll shut it down_

_ 'Til the love runs out, 'til the love runs out_

Her feet matched the pace of the beat of the song. She tapped her thigh as she walked. "I'll be doing this, if you had a doubt, 'til the love runs out. 'Til the love runs out." She whistled to herself, a skip nearly in her step. Running. Running, always running. "There's a maniac, out in front of me. Got an angel on my shoulder and Mephistopheles." She hummed, shouldering past people as they rushed forward across the sidewalk. Always in a hurry, never getting anywhere. "We all run for something. Run for God, for Fate, for love, for hate, for gold, for rust, for diamonds, for rust. I'll be your light, your match, your burning Sun."

_We'll work it out, yes we'll work it out_

She missed a step. She stumbled down a curb, auburn hair flying out behind her. A hand, strong and large, caught her, helped her up. Blushing in embarrassment, she glanced up at the man who had helped her. He had the brightest smile and blue eyes she had ever seen, with short brown hair and a strong, handsome jaw.

"Careful, miss. Always have to watch where you're going in these parts."

Stunned, she just smiled at nodded, watched as he disappeared back into the crowd. She shook her head to clear it. Déjà vu, it was. She kept half-remembering things. She had the unmistakable sense that she had seen things, had been places, long before. But this was her first time away from Europe. It was. It…was? It was the strangest thing; when she closed her eyes…she could see the stars. Not just familiar constellations, but ones she shouldn't know, shouldn't have seen. And yet she knew they were real. She just knew it. So many suns—scattered across the heavens. Wouldn't it be something to see them all?

Stars and space were still on Donna's mind, swirling around with the lyrics from that song—that _damn_ song! The key stuck in the door of the apartment, _like it always bloody did_, and finally gave after the fourth merciless twist.

"This _bloody_ flat!" she seethed, flinging her purse onto the coatrack. It slipped and missed, falling to the floor with a crash and then a cascade of personal effects. She stared at the thing, squinted at it, and wished it nothing but the fleas of a thousand camels. She kicked her belongings back inside of the bag, then she nudged it with her toe onto the bottom of the rack.

She took a deep breath, counted to ten like John always reminded her to do. Ten. Ten.

Ten…

"Donna?"

She snapped her head up, smiling. He always made her smile. Just by being there. He was at once the most frustrating and wonderful person she had ever met.

"John," she said, wiggling her feet out of her flats. "Dinner ready, love? I'm starved."

John, _her_ John, poked his head around the corner. He grinned widely at her, all white teeth and sharp angles. "Just about. C'mere."

"Explains the smoke," she countered, grinning right back at him as she sauntered over. He was wearing his favorite apron: pink frills and white lace. The first time she had seen him in it, she had laughed for over an hour. Even now it made her snort, which only made his smile wider.

"It's not smoke, it's _Cajun_." He grinned, waving a cookbook at her. "I'm trying to make you the regional cuisine. I want you to experience every bit of this place. I want you to experience everything."

She laughed, eyeing the stove and its smoking contents as she nestled up to her husband. How many years ago had they married? Ten? It could have been a day. Even looking in the mirror, she wouldn't have been able to say time had passed. They looked the same, but she supposed happiness would do that. She had no cares to weigh her down. John's job covered all their bills, and though they fought occasionally, they always came 'round. He almost always would come to see things her way.

"Somehow," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist, "I don't think Cajun cooking is indigenous to New York. I swear," she laughed, pulling out of his arms and slipping over to the stove to inspect the mess there, "you're so thin, I get a paper cut every time I hug you."

She lifted the lid from the pot and made a face as a wall of smoke hit her hard. She coughed, and quickly placed the lid back again. Yes, no. So much no. There was no eating this, whatever it had started out its life as.

"What…what did you just say?"

Donna couldn't fight back a smile as she turned to face him. It quickly slipped though, when she saw her husband's face. His eyes, the clearest brown she had ever seen, were just a little wide, his eyebrows high. She had never seen him shocked before. She surprised him over and over, every day, somehow, just by being herself. Yet…she had never seen him look so absolutely shocked. She could tell that it was not shocked in a happy kind of way. He looked…horrified.

"What did you _just_ say?"

He approached her, gripped her shoulders tightly, his eyes boring into her own.

"I…I what?" He was beginning to scare her. And her mind…it was so fuzzy.

"A paper cut?"

He gave her a little shake. She shoved his hands off, glowering at him.

"Sod off! It was just a joke. You're just so skinny, no matter how much you eat or what you do, you're always so skinny, Martian Boy!"

He looked as if he had been slapped. John took a step back, shaking his head. Donna's knees felt weak. Martian boy…? Why…why had she said that? She placed a hand on her throat and took a step towards him. There it was, that feeling…

"Right. That's how it is then. Faster, each time."

She looked up and John was holding something, like a glowing mechanical wand, and his eyes…even when he smiled, always, his eyes were sad. The only time she could ever get that look, that haunted, lonely look, out of his eyes was when they were alone together, in bed. And right now, she had never seen those brown eyes she loved so much look sadder, more lost.

"John…John, what are you doing? What's going on? What _is_ that?"

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "But it will be okay again very soon."

It flashed blue, the thing in his hand; she heard just a moment of buzzing and then everything went black.


	2. The Beginning and the End

**Author's Note: **_So! I realized, re-reading the first chapter, that it might not be clear how long they have been married. Heh! They've been married for two years, to set things straight. Donna thinking that it's been ten years is part of her confusion and memories resurfacing. Okay! Any questions or comments, feel free to drop a line! Please also forgive any typos or inconsistencies; my Beta is sick and I don't want to trouble her, but I still wanted to post this and get it out to you lickety-split!  
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**Chapter Two**

**The Beginning and the End**

**x**

It was cold out, nice and crisp. The air was so clean on nights like this. The sky was so clear. It didn't matter that the cold soaked right into his bones and joints; at his age, he was lucky he was still able to climb that hill each night. Wilf was sitting up on that very hill, gazing into his telescope, when his mobile rang. His back pocket began buzzing and nearly startled him out of his lawn chair. There were only two people who had this number, and Donna had called last night to check in with him. She never called two days in a row. Not unless it was an emergency. Or worse. What if it was him? He had to admit, when the Doctor had returned, again with a new face, intent on rescuing Donna from the sadness that had settled into the very cracks at her eyes when she smiled, Wilf had been overjoyed. He was here to save his girl, his Shooting Star. And at first, he had. He truly had. Donna, already divorced, had begun smiling again, her self-esteem was beginning to rebuild. But then…then the hot flashes had begun. She had had relapses.

With cold-stiffened fingers, he groped behind him until he had rescued the buzzing thing and had turned it on.

"Hullo? Donna?"

"She's remembering, Wilf. She's remembering."

Wilf ran a hand over his face, a heavy weight of exhaustion settling over his shoulders and sinking into his bones. It was just time. Time running against them all.

"I told you this was a bad idea, to keep doing this. If she remembered once, she would remember again. I told you she was too smart. She would remember. She had to. How could she really forget all of that? With all she's done? All she's been through?" But she was happy…wasn't she? His Little General?

Wilf heard a thunk and could imagine the Doctor hitting his head against the wall, one of his newer traits. He was the same as before, and yet completely different than when he had been that skinny lad, running around in a suit and trainers. Just as skinny, but now with brown hair with a touch of salt, sparkling brown eyes, prominent cheek bones and a wide, smiling mouth.

"I know. I know it was a bad idea, but Wilf, you don't understand what I took from her. I had—"

"Don't you dare," Wilf said, his voice suddenly pitched low. He stood, using the arm of the chair to help him get up. "Don't you dare tell me that I don't know what she's lost. Don't you think that I don't know. You gave her the stars and then you took her away from all of it. And you didn't just take it away. You made it never exist. You're the one who doesn't know. You don't know what her life was like before. You don't…you don't understand. She's always had a spark in her, Doctor. But she never saw it. She never did. Her mum had her thinking all kinds of awful things. Not until you, Doctor. Not…not until you."

The Doctor closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall. His hearts were shattering. "Wilf…she's the most important woman who ever lived. She saved everything. _Everything_. I had to give her something. I had…I had to make her happy—I had to see her happy, Wilf!" He slammed his head against the wall again, his eyes squeezed shut. "I couldn't see her sinking into what she was before…into whom she _thought_ she was. She's so much. She is _so_ much."

He tilted his head and opened his eyes. There she was, asleep on the sofa. She never slept as peacefully as she was sleeping now. There were always cares traced across her face. The cares of an entire universe. He looked away, the pain becoming almost overwhelming. If he hadn't found her…but no, that's not right. She had found him. Or, the TARDIS had found her for him.

Hadn't She?

Wilf looked up at the sky. It was strange. Donna and the stars—they had always been tied together in his mind. The first night he had seen her, when her mother brought her home, he had seen the most brilliant shooting star just an hour before. He hadn't really been a stargazer in those days; he had had a fleeting interest, but nothing more. But since that shooting star…bright as a sun, it was. Twice as beautiful. He couldn't get stars out of his mind. Stars and…life. Alien life. Looking into his granddaughter's face for the first time, how could something so beautiful have come from Earth? How could Earth be the only thing to produce such beautiful life? She had sparked all his interest in the heavens. Ever since his daughter had adopted her.

"Then save her, Doctor. This isn't enough. This half-life you've given her now, it isn't enough. She needs more, Doctor. You have to figure out how to save her. She's so much more than she knows. She needs to know. She needs to _know_."

The Doctor turned and looked once more at Donna, lying sleeping on the couch. Wilf was right. He needed something new. She was remembering too quickly. He had known it was possible to come back into her life when the Master had returned, when he was still his tenth incarnation. She had begun to remember, but she had survived. Inexplicably. No human should have been able to survive the presence of a Time Lord mind, and _yet she had_. The idea that she could survive had niggled and niggled at him, through his many adventures after. Then one day, out of the blue, he had come back to check up on her through Wilf. And he had learned that she was getting divorced from the Temple man. Donna had felt she wasn't able to devote herself to her husband, Wilf had said, and that had driven her to sorrow. She had divorced him, even though he had said whatever piece of herself she could give him was enough, she refused. She couldn't partly devote herself to anyone. It wasn't right.

And the Doctor knew. He knew that this was his opportunity to truly take care of her, to bring back the joy and spark to her eye. And he had, at first. But the longer he was with her, the more he realized she had not recovered. There was still sorrow deep in those brown eyes of hers. So much sorrow. The only time he could drive it out of her eyes was…well…

The Doctor turned a light pink and closed his eyes. "Wilf,. I'll bring her back. Somehow."

Wilf's eyes, already moist, filled with tears. He smiled up at the stars. "I know you will, Doctor."

Donna was having the nicest dream. She was flying through the Universe on a beam of light. Stars were born around her as she flew; planets formed, lived their lives, and died, only to be bottled up again in new stars, exploded out to form new planets. Life formed, life died, and life continued to be born again. She saw it all. She saw Universes collect, spin and dance around each other; she saw them collide and fly apart. It was all she had ever known. It was all she would ever know, and that was _wonderful_. It was the nicest dream.

The Doctor made sure that Donna was still sleeping deeply. He slipped his mobile phone back into his pocket and hovered over her. She let out a soft sigh and turned, her eyes moving rapidly beneath her lids. He smiled a little as he ran his fingers through her hair. She would be asleep for hours longer, and when she awoke, she would remember nothing. He glanced at her one more time as he was walking out the door. His hearts swelled and he locked her in safely. The TARDIS was near, in the apartment over. He couldn't leave it out on the street like he could in Britain. No big blue boxes here in the states. He unlocked the door and slipped inside.

"Right," he said, entering the TARDIS with a snap of his fingers. "We need to go see an expert." He grinned, throwing a switch and grabbing his go-to hammer. "And I have just the expert in mind."

It never took long to get from one place to another in the TARDIS. A little banging, a little twisting and a lot of yelling, and there he was—exactly where he needed to be, every single time. He threw open the door, grinning and stepped into…

An old junk shop. He frowned, looked up at the TARDIS, and then re-entered it. He locked up, and tried again, grabbing his hammer. The TARDIS started up, then suddenly stopped. She went cold, the lights went out. The Doctor flung his hammer over his shoulder, frowning. "Come on, Sexy! I know you're fine." He threw some switches again, pulled out his sonic screwdriver and began to inspect his old girl. An hour later, he knew she was fine. This…this was intentional. He groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

"Well isn't this just Christmas," he muttered, slamming open the TARDIS door and then slamming it closed behind him. He folded his arms across his chest, grunted and looked around. There was no one here. The lights were out and the door looked locked. What was he here for? There had to be a reason. There was always a reason. He began pacing through the aisles of…was this a pawn shop? Was that what the locals called it? He snorted again, and in a burst of frustration, slammed his hands down onto one of the glass cases.

"Bollocks. It is definitely time to go," he muttered and spun around. He jumped in surprise when the glass he had just been leaning on slid away and clattered onto the floor, marvelously intact.

"Gravy!" He tried to wrestle the glass back into place, only to have it fight him at every turn. Something caught his eye as he tried once more to force the glass panel back into place. There…that shine. He grabbed a ring, stared at it intently. He recognized that shine. That metal…his people had traded with the Hoothi to get it, long ago. It was beyond precious. And here it was, lying around idly on Earth. He swallowed, fingers beginning to shake as he lifted it up to look at it closely. "That…is a diamond from Gallifrey. There is nothing so pure an indigo on Earth. And those, those are Gallifreyan pearls. What are you doing here…?"

There was an engraving on the inside, a series of circles and swoops that would be gibberish, doodles, to humans. But he could read them.

_To Our Daughter—Lady of Time, Remember Who You Are._

He nearly dropped the thing in surprise, but his fingers wouldn't let him. They had it gripped tightly, unwilling to let go of his little piece of home. Home…home, lost in another Universe, leaving him never to see another Time Lord again…never…unless…unless…!

He spun around, glass panel be damned, and sprinted back to the TARDIS. She opened to him immediately, running and humming and ready to go.

"Oh, beautiful, _beautiful_ Girl! I could kiss you!"

She rumbled in response, and he laughed as he flipped a few switches, half-leapt onto the dash and began twisting nobs.

"Don't worry, Sexy, I'll save that for my wife." He laughed, turning a light pink as he gazed down at the ring in his palm, one leg still propped up on the dash of the TARDIS. "My wife," he said again, feeling a little pride swell in his chest. Each of his wives had been so different. His last several had been women he hadn't necessarily chosen. Donna…he had _chosen_ Donna.

And maybe…maybe he knew why. With a grin, he leapt off of the panels of the TARDIS, flung the door open and immediately flung it closed again.

"Wrong apartment, Old Girl!"

With an annoyed wheeze, the TARDIS made the lengthy journey to the apartment directly across the hall. The Doctor made sure to lock the door behind him, a skip in his step, and a very special ring in his pocket for a very special woman in his life.


	3. Prologue: Timey-Wimey

**Chapter Three**

**Prologue: Timey-Wimey**

**x**

There. It was done. The Mother watched as the small speck of light shot across the sky like a falling star, and vanished into the deep indigo of night. Her bright red hair was bound up in an intricate array of braids and bun. In a way, she was sad to see the little one go. It was her first child, and likely to be her last. Despite her husband's assurances, she doubted this little scheme was going to meet fruition. A shame, that. As she gazed up into the stars, she couldn't help but feel a small squeeze of sorrow between the two of her hearts. She was curious to see how the little one would turn out. Not from an overly sympathetic, motherly standpoint, no, not that. She was curious for the sake of observation. How would the little thing manage with no Time Lord influence, no one to act as a guide? Surrounded by aliens with limited intellectual capacity…would the little creature ever truly actualize full potential? Well, as far as a hybrid could have potential.

"Mother?"

The redhead turned and looked at her husband, the Father. "Father."

"Has it been done?" He was a tall man, slender, with long fingers and cold, clear grey eyes. Perhaps it was a weakness, but she loved the way the spot between his eyebrows wrinkled whenever he was deeply lost in thought.

"It is done. The Star is fallen."

He turned his face up towards the stars above, trying to see past the fire that seared the horizon. Daleks were swarming. Millions upon millions upon millions. That speck that he hadn't had the opportunity to see off was their last chance. Well, their most likely chance.

"Do you think he will come?" the Father asked, giving his back to the burning sky. He put an arm around his wife's shoulders, led her inside.

The Mother laughed, a somewhat sarcastic sound, as she allowed herself to be taken inside. "You mean the Doctor, don't you? No, I've no faith in _that_ particular madman. I'm betting on our Star, if anything."

The Father looked down at his wife, the explosions in the air a bit of a distraction. "Really? Are you so certain of the Master? Of the two, I imagine his madness to be more consuming."

"That is precisely what we need. We need a madman, Father. The Master will save us. The Doctor…his skewed sense of morality is too great. The Master will have no qualms with putting our needs before those of lesser beings."

The Father paused as he closed and locked the doors to their laboratory. Was it his imagination, or had a star winked out above? His hands lingered on the doorknobs, his grey eyes focused above. "I think it is precisely the Doctor's morality, if you will call it so, coupled with his unending determination, which is precisely what will be our salvation."

He closed the doors with a quiet snap, locking them with a snap of his fingers. He loved that feature.

"You are naïve, Father. It is not goodness that will save us. We are too beyond that. We are beyond morality. The Master will understand that. Not the Doctor. He relies too heavily on the morality of lesser beings—aliens who cannot comprehend the mysteries of the universe."

He sat in his favorite arm chair, worn and patched, much to Mother's disapproval. It was fit perfectly to this form, hugged him exactly where it should. Years and years of sitting, of thinking, of working, had gone into this chair.

"Sometimes age improves things, Mother. Age and use. The Doctor understands the need for change—how it can make something better. The Master knows only madness."

The Mother cringed as another explosion rocked the laboratory.

"Madness," she said, bitterness edging the corners of her words, "is the only salvation we have left. So yes, I think if anything will save us, it will be our plan—it will be the Master."

The Father rubbed at his chin, watching his wife tighten up, coil closer and closer together, trying to cope with the end of their way of life. "You and I never did agree on that. You see, the Master is not one to take companions. The Doctor is the one who takes the broken and mends them, as they mend him."

The Mother looked at her husband and gave him a withering glare. "The child will not be broken. She will not be a mere companion. _She_ will be our savior, through the Master."

The Father reached over and picked up a lab chart. He tapped it thoughtfully against his knee, then smiled at his wife. "My dear," he ignored the pained expression she cast his way; she did so hate affectionate indulgences, "we have designed her to be broken. We have sent her somewhere to guarantee her brokenness. We have given her to a woman who is certain to instill in her a sense of brokenness. There is little more we could have done to make sure she will never be complete until…"

"Until the Master finds her, and gives her the ring."

The Father shook his head, laughing at his wife's stubbornness. "Darling, do you think that crazed lunatic is likely to _share_ anything? The Doctor, on the other hand…"

The Mother took the chart from her husband's hands and flung it across the small space. "Don't talk about _him_. Our daughter won't be a simple pawn in another Time Lord's scheme! She will work hand in hand with—"

Her husband's laugh stopped her short. She stared at him, laughing like a loon.

"Darling, don't you even realize?" he looked up at her, his cold grey eyes sparkling with amusement. "That's the first time you've called her that. Our daughter. _Ours_."

The Mother looked down at her hands, her fingers trembling. She looked at her husband and shook her head. "She…she can never be that. I misspoke. She isn't ours. She isn't our daughter."

"No, you're right." He stood, smiling as he walked to his wife. "She isn't our daughter. She's the most important woman in creation. She's going to be the salvation of us all." He wrapped his arms around her and held her. Normally, they didn't waste time with physical affection. Circumstances being what they were, he didn't think there would be much time for his wife to argue.

The door rattled, banged and thrashed. Something was coming through. The Father had a feeling he knew exactly what their fate would be, momentarily.

"My love," he said, cupping her face in both his hands, forcing her to look at him. "We will never have this moment again. Kiss me."

The Mother gazed into the eyes of the Father, and as the doors to their lab shattered, as the Daleks poured in, screaming, "Exterminate!" over and over, she stood up on her toes, wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, and kissed him. As their bodies exploded into a thousand-thousand particles, the Mother and the Father embraced one last time.


End file.
